


Yellow Ford Capri

by DoctorBilly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Trope: Huddle for warmth, letswritesherlock, reference to homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in the snow…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Ford Capri

"Shush. You're all right. It'll be all right."

Lestrade hopes it is true, but he isn't completely convincing himself. Dimmock had been asleep when he'd finally found him. _No_ , he corrects himself, _not asleep. Unconscious._

Unconscious in his stupid yellow Ford Capri. At least the colour had been easy to spot in the deep snowdrift the vehicle had ploughed into. That had been the only useful property of the car. _Fucking idiot_ , Lestrade thinks. _What made him use a sixties soft-top on a day like this?_

The day had started really well. Dimmock and Lestrade had both closed their respective cases; both gone to the office Christmas party later; both drunk the spiced, non-alcoholic punch (alcohol was banned at daytime parties, there could be a call-out at any time); both acquitted themselves well on the dance floor and the karaoke stage.

Dimmock had sung an old Beatles song, and a bit disconcertingly for Lestrade, had stared straight at him while he was singing. It had made him feel a bit uncomfortable, but not so much that he didn't want to kiss him under the mistletoe. The kiss had been a bit hotter than he expected, but he hadn't been too worried. It was a party, after all.

Later, there had been Secret Santa presents. The Yarders had a tradition of giving near-the knuckle gifts. This year's rules were that they must cost less than ten pounds, and they must be related to the recipient's interests. The run-up to the party had been filled with people asking innocuously loaded questions to try to find out what their giftee was interested in.

Lestrade had been given a chef's apron with a naked woman's headless body strategically printed on it. Everyone knew he loved to cook, and it had been funny. Dimmock's gift had been a tube of mince-pie-flavoured lube, and that was when things had started to go wrong.

Dimmock had smiled brightly, then left early. Lestrade had called him, and they had had a heated conversation about queer baiting that had felt like accusations. Lestrade had tried to calm the young DI down, but had been told to piss off and mind his own business. He had demanded to know where Dimmock was going to be over Christmas, in case he needed to call him in for a case. Dimmock had tersely told him he was on his way to stay with a cousin in Essex. Then he had hung up on him.

Lestrade had tried calling back, but the phone had rung out. He had worried a bit, trying to think what he could have done to upset his colleague. _Surely he didn't think I was his Secret Santa_ , he'd thought. He had shrugged, and gone back to the party.

It is snowing heavily when he leaves. He is grateful for his heavy four-wheel-drive car. It holds the road well, better than some lighter vehicles, which are sliding around a bit on the treacherous road surfaces. The gritting lorries haven't done much to improve conditions, and he gets held up once or twice by queues of traffic trying to get out of busy junctions.

He finally makes it home and switches on the news. It is full of weather reports; motorways closed, side streets blocked; abandoned cars. _Idiots_ , he thinks. _Better to stay in your car than abandon it in this weather._ The programme switches from national to local news. There is more footage of abandoned cars, cars left across roads, blocking access, cars left where they have ploughed into snowdrifts at the sides of roads. He blinks. _That's Dimmock's car…_

He tries phoning Dimmock again.

"We are sorry. The number you have called is not available."

Dimmock wouldn't switch his phone off. Not in this weather. Not when he is on call. He wouldn't abandon his car, either. Lestrade starts to worry in earnest. He fills a thermos flask with hot milky coffee, grabs half a loaf of bread and a packet of cheese from the fridge, pulls the duvet off his bed and goes back out to his own car.

His flat is halfway between the Yard and the place where Dimmock has apparently driven off the road. He drives carefully, manages to avoid accidents, flashes his badge at everyone who tries to stop him.

It takes two hours to find the yellow Capri. Half an hour more to manhandle Dimmock out through the convertible's roof and into the back seat of his own car. No point trying to get help. He had barrelled through barriers that were being erected to block access to the road. The surface was bad then. It is worse now. Even emergency services won't get through. Visibility is too poor for helicopters. He is on his own.

He checks Dimmock's pulse. Slow. Breathing. Slow. There don't appear to be any injuries. Dimmock's seatbelt had not been fastened. He wouldn't drive without fastening it. He must have been conscious after the crash. He must have decided to wait for help. Fallen asleep. Lestrade searches Dimmock's pockets for his phone. It is dead. He checks his own phone. Three-quarters charged. It will have to do.

He calls the emergency services, so that there is a record, and is given advice that doesn't tell him anything he doesn't already know. He switches the car heater on, turns the engine on so as not to drain the battery. It will be okay as long as the fuel lasts, which won't be long. He hadn't thought to fill the tank that day. It is still snowing. If it gets deep enough to cover the exhaust pipe he will have to turn the engine off anyway. He doesn't think about what will happen if it gets deep enough to cover the car.

He settles himself beside Dimmock on the back seat, wraps his arms around him, pulling his body as close to his own as he can. The DI is cold. Lestrade wraps them both in the duvet he has brought. Body heat will help.

The car engine idles for a couple of hours. Lestrade cracks the window every now and then to freshen the air inside the car. Checks Dimmock's body temperature frequently. He is starting to warm up a bit.

Dimmock stirs, fights to get free of the constricting duvet, stops when he realises who is holding him tight. His teeth chatter and he shivers violently.

"Shush. You're all right. It'll be all right."

"My feet hurt…"

"That's good."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Means you can feel them. Means they haven't dropped off…"

Dimmock huffs out a tired little laugh. 

 

"You came looking for me. How did you know where to come? My phone died…"

"Spotted your stupid yellow car on the news…"

"Oh. I suppose were both trapped now?"

"Yeah. I brought coffee. Can you drink it without spilling it?"

"You might need to hold the cup. I'm shaking…"

"All right."

Lestrade reaches into the front seat to retrieve the flask and the food. He pours half a cup of the coffee, and holds it carefully so Dimmock can drink.

"Is it still snowing?"

"Yeah. Starting to get light out now though. We won't be left in the dark when the battery dies. It'll get colder though. Hope you're up for a cuddle."

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier on the phone. You didn't deserve that."

"That's okay. You were pissed off. You didn't think _I'd_ bought you that lube?"

"No."

"Any ideas who did?"

"Yeah. Fucking bastards won't stop needling. I get it every day."

"I'll have words…"

"Not worth bothering. It's institutional homophobia. It'll just make my life more miserable if you make waves. I try to ignore it, but that was a bit public…"

The car battery finally gives up the ghost, taking the heater with it. Lestrade shuffles a bit to get more comfortable, helping Dimmock to sit a little more upright in the vee of his legs, his back to Lestrade's chest. Lestrade hands Dimmock the bread and cheese he has brought and the young DI uses his penknife to carve chunks off for them to eat.

"Could have brought butter…"

"You're lucky I thought to bring anything. How are your feet?"

"Itching. Chilblains, I hope." _Frostbite, probably_ , he doesn't say.

He'd changed his shoes for the party, and not changed back. The thin-soled snakeskin lace-ups were great for dancing. Not so good for keeping warm.

They finish the last of the coffee and snuggle the duvet around themselves again. Lestrade hums tunelessly.

"You can do better than that."

"What?"

"If you're going to hum, at least hum something recognisable."

Lestrade sings breathily. One verse. The only thing he can remember, offhand.

" _Sometimes I feel so happy, sometimes I feel so sad. Sometimes I feel so happy, but mostly you just make me mad. Baby, you just make me mad. Linger on, your pale blue eyes. Linger on, your pale blue eyes_."

Dimmock smiles.

"Lou Reed. Suits your voice."

"You're a better singer. That song you did for the karaoke was great. Thought you were singing it at me…"

"I was."

"Ah."

"Did I read you wrong? I thought…"

"I don't know, Theo. I like you…"

Lestrade has kissed men. Groped a few, and been groped, but Dimmock doesn't seem as if he's just angling for a quickie in the back seat.

"You came looking for me. Why?"

"I was worried…"

"Worried enough to get yourself trapped with me."

"Yeah. I wasn't thinking straight. I thought you might be injured…" _Or dead_.

"You care…"

"Yeah"

He kisses Dimmock's ear, drags his mouth down to Dimmock's neck, bites gently. Dimmock shivers.

"You're interested…"

Lestrade's cock is pressed against Dimmock's arse, making it hard to hide the fact that he is _very_ interested.

"Yeah. But I'm not taking anything off until we're somewhere a bit warmer than this."

"I'm interested, as well."

"Yeah. I got that. We'll do something about it after we get rescued."

Lestrade's phone rings. It is Sally Donovan.

"We got a report you're trapped in the snow, sir. We're going to get a chopper up. Where are you?"

"On the M25. Junction 28. I'm with Dimmock. He needs to have someone look at his feet. Tell the pilot to look for a yellow Ford Capri stuck in a drift. We're a few yards from it."

"Righto. Well get you out soon sir."

Lestrade grins.

"Chopper'll be here soon. We won't freeze to death."

He hugs Dimmock tight. Dimmock pulls the duvet around them. They huddle together to keep warm while they wait.

 

 

 

Dimmocks song: The Beatles: Any Time At All: <http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3zfi2_the-beatles-any-time-at-all_music>

Lestrade's song: Lou Reed: Pale Blue Eyes: <http://youtu.be/9OgZl90B57s>

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock challenge 15


End file.
